


hero in flannel pyjama bottoms

by sansaswildlinglover



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempted Sexual Assault, F/M, Joffrey is an asswipe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-08-14 12:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20192266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansaswildlinglover/pseuds/sansaswildlinglover
Summary: After a night out, Sansa wakes up on a couch that is not her own.Or, the one where Jon finds an unconscious Sansa and decides the best course of action is to take her home.





	hero in flannel pyjama bottoms

Sansa's head felt as if she'd been hit with a hammer and then shoved into a wall, and her tongue was reduced to a strip of old leather covered in sandpaper. 

She slung an arm over her eyes to protect them from the light, which was much too bright. Had she forgotten to close the curtains before going out last night?

On that topic, what the hell had happened last night after she'd lost Margaery, and how had she gotten home? And why was her back aching like that?

She rolled over and had to clutch the edge of what was most certainly not her bed to stop herself from falling to the floor.

She opened her eyes, clinging to the unfamiliar grey fleece that was covering her and realized she'd been sleeping on a couch that was most certainly not her own.

The room was sparsely furnished, with an old but comfortable-looking armchair, a rectangular black coffee table and a flatscreen mounted on the wall, but there didn't seem to be any decorations.

_What the fuck? Where am I? _She pushed herself into a sitting position, realizing she was still in the dress Margaery had convinced her to wear for their night out. Thinking was hard with the steadily beating of pain trying to break out of her skull.

"Oh, you're awake!" a deep voice said. "Good, I brought you some water and a couple of painkillers, guess you'll--

His comment was cut off by the scream that escaped from Sansa's throat as she scrambled back onto the armrest of the couch, accidentally pushing the pillow off as she pulled the fleece over her shoulders to shield her from the intruder.

Oh, wait, that's right. She was probably the intruder here. She stared back at the man who was gaping at her, mouth hanging open and hands raised in defence or surrender, she couldn't tell.

She studied him for a moment. He had a head of dark, messy curls and was wearing a black tanktop paired with red checkered flannel pyjama bottoms. 

"I'm sorry!" he mumbled. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Who are you? How did I get here?" she asked, proud of the firm tone of her voice.

He tilted his chin, which was covered in a neatly trimmed beard. "You don't remember?" 

She shook her head, which was a bad idea, as it only made the pounding ache even worse, and she had to pinch the bridge of her nose to keep it bearable. She glanced back up to dark-and-curly.

The crease between his eyebrows and his pouty lips were sort of cute. And his beard and muscled arms were kind of hot. But as far as she knew, this man could have kidnapped her, and she was sure she'd read somewhere that serial killers were often more attractive than average. 

"I'm Jon," he answered her first question, taking another step in her direction, causing Sansa to retreat further onto the armrest.

His shoulders sagged and he sighed.

"Alright," he said, holding up the hand with the strip of painkillers. "I'm going to put the water and the pills on the table so you can get them, and then I'm going to sit down in the armchair so you can come down, _before_ you fall off my couch and I actually have to drive you to the hospital this time."

She narrowed her eyes at him, watching him warily as he acted on his words. She suspected it was the way he couldn't hide the hint of annoyance in his voice that convinced her to trust him.

Once he'd sat down, she tentatively moved down and reached for the bottle of water and the generic brand painkillers. She popped two of them into her mouth and washed them down with the entire bottle of water.

"You don't remember anything?" Jon asked.

She folded her legs and drapped the fleece over her shoulders, licking her lips as she tried to focus. "I remember the party at the pub," she said slowly, "and Margaery going to say hi to her cousin, and then..." She shuddered, suddenly recalling a flash of white teeth between a pair of wormy lips.

"Joffrey was there," she mumbled.

"So you did know him?"

Sansa winced. She'd mostly been talking to herself and had almost forgotten that Jon was there. "My ex," she clarified. "Or more commonly known as the worst mistake in Sansa Stark's young life."

"Stark?" he blurted out, making her glance up at him. He was staring at her again. "Are you Robb Stark's little sister?" he asked.

She gaped back at him. "Jon? As in Jon Snow?"

He nodded, and Sansa chuckled. 

"I can't be-- can you believe it?"

"What are the odds, right?" he laughed.

Her grin slipped away as the memory of Joffrey's hand on her arm returned to her.

"So, yeah, um, that was Joffrey," she said, chewing on her fingernails. 

Jon shrugged. "We've all made some shitty decisions."

"You saw him with me?" she asked.

Jon frowned, but nodded.

"I remember him walking up to me, but after that... It's just one big blur."

"He told me to stay out of it," Jon offered. "That you were his girl and that it was none of my business."

"What?" she cried out. "He really said that?"

He hummed in affirmation. "I don't normally go around sticking my nose in other people's business, but you looked really uncomfortable."

"I was, I mean, I must have been." Another flash, Joffrey's cruel and crazy eyes she'd only noticed once it was too late back when they'd been together.

"And then you passed out."

"I did what now?" Sansa gasped. "I only had two shots and a lemon drop!"

Jon leapt to his feet, clenching his fists. "Seven hells, fucking asshole!" he shouted, making Sansa wince again. "I should have done more than just break his nose!"

He sat down as soon as he noticed she'd curled up into a ball again. "I'm sorry," he muttered. 

"You broke Joffrey Baratheon's nose?" she huffed, immediately forgetting how startled she'd been moments before.

His eyes grew wide. "Baratheon, huh? You think I should call a lawyer?"

Sansa couldn't help but laugh, until a cold and almost slimy sensation slipped down her spine.

"You think he put something in my drink?" It wasn't really a question, but that's how it came out, because acknowledging it as a certainty was too much to take in for her.

"As soon as you were out, he tried to drag you outside to his car. That's when the punching happened," Jon clarified.

Suddenly the room around her started spinning. "I think I'm going to be sick," she muttered.

Jon caught her when she tried to get to her feet and tripped over the blanket and then half carried her to the bathroom, holding her hair as she threw up into the toilet.

After making sure she was okay, he left her alone to clean herself up and then brought her a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror, at the streaks of mascara and eyeliner on her cheeks, paler trails of her tears running through them, the leftover highlighter on one side of her face, her chapped lips and her smeared pink lipstick. _I look awful, _she thought.

_Really, Sansa? You were almost-- Joffrey almost-- and you're worried about your looks?_

She splashed water onto her face and tried to wash off as much of her make-up as she could manage. _Nothing happened, _she told herself. _Nothing happened, because Jon was there._

When she returned to the couch, another bottle of water was waiting for her. "Thank you," she mumbled.

"It's nothing."

"For everything," she pointed out.

"Anyone would have done the same," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

_No, _she thought. _They wouldn't have. _"But," she continued, deciding to let that go. "You still haven't explained how I ended up on your couch."

"Your phone died," he explained. "And I didn't know who you were. So I decided the best thing to do was bring you back to my place."

"And no one tried to stop you from dragging my unconscious body to _your_ car?" she asked, surprised at her own ability to make light of the situation.

"I didn't drag-- I carried you! I mean, I didn't-- I'm-I'm sorry," he stammered, his ears turning a delightful red.

She bit her lip and arched an eyebrow when he glanced up at her. 

He narrowed his eyes at her, but the corner of his lips curled up into a half-smile.

"Thank you, Jon," she said, trying to put as much sincerity in her voice as she could manage. "I don't know how I can ever repay you for saving me."

"It was nothing," he repeated. "You don't have to-- His words were cut off by his rumbling stomach. He rubbed the back of his neck again.

"Are _you_ hungry?" he asked sheepishly. "I have coffee and froot loops, and leftover pizza."

She scrunched her nose. "As tempting as cold pizza sounds, I think I have a better idea." She beamed at him. "If you drive me home so I can get dressed and charge my phone, I'll take you out for brunch. My treat, to say thank you."

The smile that lit up his face was possibly the most beautiful thing Sansa had seen in a long while. "I'd love that," he answered, still grinning from ear to ear. 


End file.
